


I Let You Know Me

by heademptydickout



Category: Hannibal (TV), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, M/M, and ethan is will graham, basically mark is hannibal, jesus christ so much angst, pls someone help im trapped in this hannibal au hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29715780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heademptydickout/pseuds/heademptydickout
Summary: Ethan Nestor is just a man -- a man the FBI regularly calls upon to solve some of the most gruesome and inexplicable murder cases in the northeast. He lives with his dogs, he stays out of the way as the world rushes by. Everything around him is forced into neat little boxes to be sorted and interpreted from a respectable distance.Mark Fishbach is refined, terrifyingly intelligent psychiatrist with a penchant for following Ethan to crime scenes whenever it catches his fancy. He lives by himself, he throws lavish parties for distinguished guests, and he brings Ethan fine red wine when the younger man gets caught up working late in his Bureau office.When the case of the Chesapeake Ripper is reopened with the murder of a local nurse, Ethan feels something like a reckoning in the air. He can't tell how or why, but he is convinced that the over-friendly and absurdly attractive psychiatrist has something to do with the admittedly interesting murders tending to fall directly in his lap.ORThe Hannibal TV AU that no one asked for :D
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	1. A Yoke on the Neck of Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my head the other day, and I felt the writing bug for the first time in a loooonngg time. I'll post the first chapter as a test run to see how I feel about it, and if I like it I'll continue. I will warn anyone who reads this not to get emotionally attached because I'm an aerospace engineering major and it's actual hell for my creative schedule. Disclaimer -- I don't ship these two in real life, I just like their on-camera dynamic a lot. Anyways, enjoy my self-indulgent bit!
> 
> -Arwen

The body is so, so cold.

Ethan supposes that makes sense, seeing as it’s been close to freezing on this side of the state since the end of October. There’s no heating system in the house, and whoever stashed the sad remnants of Virginia Chamberlain didn’t bother to cover any part of the poor girl’s exposed body. Ethan pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply, knowing as he hears footsteps approaching him from behind the horrible thing he will have to do next.

“Well?” says Jack Crawford, a good and honorable man in Ethan’s opinion. A good and honorable man, yes, to his country and his wife, but also the herald of Ethan’s worst fears.

He sighs, still kneeling at Virginia’s side, his back to the Behavioral Science Unit’s powerful head. It’s such a shame, when he has to reenact the death of a promising young woman. So much life and vibrance, snuffed out simply like flame on a candle’s wick.

“Yes sir,” he murmurs, feeling the muscles in his chest tighten. One of these days, he’s going to have a heart attack at a scene. “If you could step out, please?”

Ethan senses rather than hears Jack’s response, even more so the front door of the dilapidated one-bedroom shutting behind him. He finally stands. Virginia’s pretty brown eyes stare lifelessly at the ceiling, her lips blue with rigor mortis and warped into a soundless scream. Ethan will have to listen to it, at the end of all this.

Outside of the house, Jack and his team wait patiently and drink hot coffee to stave the chilly air. A few talk, perhaps a bit too jovially, and rope Agent Crawford into a conversation about wives and holiday gifts. It is December after all, and they’ll have to start hunting in the jewelry store close to HQ soon.

A grey Rolls Royce approaches from the east end of the road, halting the discussion in its tracks. The crime scene is tucked deep in a deserted wood. It’s much too far from civilization for a lone driver. No one other than the Behavioral Science Unit should know the location.

There is a moment of tense silence as the car parks a few meters away. The agents are silent and ready, palms wrapped securely around their guns’ handles. The driver’s door pops open and the engine quiets.

Jack’s shoulders sink in relief when the car’s owner stands – more graceful than any person getting out of a car has the right to be – and makes his way over to the cluster of FBI agents.

“Doctor Fischbach,” greets Jack, his gleeful surprise evident. He never expected a premier psychiatrist and friend of the Bureau to arrive unannounced at the scene. “What brings you to this classified part of the woods?”

The other man’s lips curl in what could passably be a smile, and nods towards the house. “The man you’ve got trapped in there, actually.”

Jack doesn’t allow his further shock to show on his face. No matter Fischbach’s connections, he shouldn’t have any idea of Nestor’s work on the case. As far as everyone outside a small selection of Behavioral Science Unit agents knows, Ethan Nestor-Darling is just a professor at the Academy and former New York agent. His consultations are infinitely valuable, but his hatred of the field has kept his involvement in active cases under wraps.

“It’s a girl, actually,” Jack responds easily, attempting to shift the conversation. “Virginia Chamberlain, a nurse over at that hospital you must have passed on the way here.”

“You know that’s not who I’m referring to, Jack Crawford.” Fischbach’s excuse for a smile doesn’t falter, despite the threatening tone of his words. “I’d like to meet him, after he’s done.”

Jack finds that his bubbling excitement at the prospect of having the doctor’s support on the case is rapidly fading, and doesn’t bother hiding it. “Doctor Fischbach, I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This case is highly classified –”

“I assume you are aware of my position as a . . . friend of the FBI, yes?” the psychiatrist grins fully, teeth and all, when the head of the Behavioral Science Unit nods tersely. “I’d like to meet Ethan Nestor. I’ve listened to a few of his recorded lectures and reviewed some of his other cases and I find him to be quite an interesting specimen.”

Almost against his will, Jack feels a protective edge creep into his demeanor. “So you’ve guessed his abilities, then? The majority of his psychological profile is redacted.”

Jack has found that Doctor Fischbach’s teeth look a lot like bared fangs when he smiles.

“I have guessed that you have an empath in your employment, yes. A particularly good, and likely tortured, one, if his extensive case list is at all accurate.”

“I wouldn’t say tortured,” Jack counters quickly, noticing the looks being exchanged between his agents. From the way the psychiatrist’s eyes gleam like a cat with the cream, he knows he hasn’t prevented anything. “He’s functional,” he continues lamely, realizing as soon as he says it that his word choice is quite possibly the worst is could have been.

A moment of pregnant silence, in which Jack seethes internally at the smug smirk tugging at the doctor’s lips, reaching the corners of his eyes. He’s so frustrated he does not notice when Ethan quietly opens the door and exits the house, his head down and shoulders tucked inwards. The picture of a man torn by what he’s done.

“Ah, there he is,” Dr. Fischbach murmurs, and Jack would bet he’s speaking solely for his own benefit. “The little genius the FBI has hidden away.”

Ethan trudges back to the small swarm of FBI vehicles and their owners, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his grey coat. He shivers despite the layers of warmth he’d put on this morning, including a nice burgundy scarf that made him feel more professional.

“Hey there,” Jack says gently when he notices the younger man approaching. “Do you want to talk now or when we get back to the Bureau?”

“When we get back to the Bureau.” Ethan’s so absorbed in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the new member of the party until he speaks.

“Hello, Ethan Nestor,” a smooth, inherently intelligent voice says. Ethan starts at the unfamiliar voice, and again at his name. He tears his attention away from the asphalt and his inward turmoil, looking up to see a rather handsome man in sleek black coat, which matches his longish hair.

Eye-contact is hard for Ethan, but the man’s eyes are so pretty he finds himself easily maintaining it. “Hello. Who are you?”

The man laughs, a wonderful, deep noise that has Ethan’s heart contracting in his chest. “I’m Doctor Mark Fischbach, but you can call me Mark.”

“You’re an FBI consultant, I’ve read some of your work,” Ethan says, growing excited. “It’s quite brilliant, especially your paper on serial killer dis –”

“Dissociation and suicide, yes, I’m very proud of that one. I’m glad to meet someone who understands my work, most of my colleagues prefer my more. . . tame pieces.” The psychiatrist grins internally, watching Jack Crawford become miffed as he and Ethan create their own little bubble of insight.

Ethan snorts and rolls his eyes, and Jack almost has a heart attack because the man has never acted like his in his presence before. “If they prefer to be coddled in the thought patterns of psychopaths, let them. They won’t be prepared to interview them if they don’t recognize that man is fully capable of knowing the extent to which he does terrible things.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Ethan.” The doctor reaches to lightly set a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “How about you ride with me back to the Bureau? I’d like to hear more of your opinions on my work.”

For the first time since Jack has known him, Ethan grins widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d really enjoy that, Doctor Fischbach.”

“Mark,” the psychiatrist admonishes, but there’s teasing in his tone. “My car is this way.”

Jack watches as the older man guides Ethan to his fancy car, even opening the passenger door for him. He grumbles under his breath, and waves the other agents back to their respective vehicles.

Something about the budding friendship under his nose doesn’t sit right with him.


	2. It is the Prospect of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took forever to get out, especially since it's only about 2k. I re-wrote this one like five times and I'm still not thrilled with the beginning, and I think the tone shifts are a little drastic, but hey it's out!! I hope any of y'all who subscribed/bookmarked enjoy it :)

It’s too quiet.

Ethan usually hates silence. The still air allows thoughts he can normally repress to hack away at the walls he’s meticulously constructed around the inner workings of his mind. Lately, those thoughts have been more persistent, more intent on Ethan’s acknowledgement than they have ever been before.

He’s meant to be reviewing Virginia Chamberlain’s file. The case he closed a week ago with the help of one Doctor Mark Fischbach.

The young man’s lips curl into a soft smile at the memory of Dr. Fischbach and his sharp, enticing wit. A three-hour car ride was all it took for the psychiatrist to convince Ethan that his talents were wasted as a criminology consultant, although he later remedied his assertion with an intensely long homage to Ethan’s success in his position. The professor himself can’t remember another time he felt the same rush of pride and accomplishment as he did when the doctor complimented him so thoroughly.

Even now, sitting at his Bureau desk buried so deep in the Behavioral Science Unit that even Jack Crawford gets lost on his way there, Ethan finds himself blushing. He’s not used to someone getting to know him and actually liking what’s left of him when the layers of nervous professionalism and standoffish-ness are peeled away.

Footsteps down the adjacent hall yank him out of his reverie, reminding him of the task at hand – finish the paperwork, drop the file in Jack’s office, and get home to his dogs. They’ll be missing him after his busy week far from home.

“Ethan? Are you still here?”

The professor’s heart races at the voice just outside his door, because that deliciously warm cadence has become a regular in his dreams. “Yeah, is that you Doctor Fischbach?”

“Who else visits you after hours?” the older man teases, nudging the door open and immediately removing his heavy black coat to hang over the extra chair Ethan keeps in the corner just for such purposes. “Am I preventing you from a salacious rendezvous with that lovely psychology professor I keep seeing you with?”

An infinitesimally small part of Ethan wonders how the man knows who he spends his time with, but he ignores it in favor of scoffing and rolling his eyes. “Alana and I are just friends, Doctor Fischbach. No need to get jealous.”

Whether it’s his generally uncharacteristic behavior or the words themselves that the psychiatrist finds particularly entertaining Ethan’s not sure, but the man laughs either way.

“Now what did I say about calling me Mark, dearest?” he grins as he says it, like he knows exactly how Ethan will react to the pet name.

Predictably, inevitably, Ethan blushes, gulping before he manages a quiet “Yes Mark,” and fiddles with the pen in his hand to hide his embarrassment. The psychiatrist’s grin widens exponentially, basking in the power of his grip on the younger man’s emotions. It’s the kind of heady feeling he wants to cultivate with candlelit dinners, red wine, and seductively intellectual conversation.

“Doesn’t Jack have another case for you to look at this week?” Mark asks finally, after thoroughly enjoying Ethan’s squirming. “I heard another young woman’s body was left in the middle of a cornfield.”

The mention of bodies immediately gets the professor’s attention. “I haven’t got a file yet, but I’m also not really supposed to consult unless they’ve exhausted all other avenues,” he confesses, as if Mark had not already combed every file related to the younger man for information about his position in the Bureau.

Mark hums affirmation, and turns his attention to the bookshelf next to Ethan’s desk, seemingly moving on from that topic. He pulls a thick title from the top shelf, and reads the back as he says, “I believe the two bodies are connected.”

Startled, Ethan takes a moment to respond as he collects his thoughts. “Your guess is as good as mine, doctor. I haven’t even seen the file, although I am assuming you have?”

“Jack Crawford allowed me the pleasure, yes.” He returns the book to its rightful place, turning back to the younger man with something akin to glee sparkling in his eyes. “If my prediction is correct – and they usually are – our lovely head of the Behavioral Science Unit will be requesting your assistance shortly.”

Ethan allows himself a small smile that doesn’t quite show his teeth or reach his eyes. If Mark cared to put a thought towards it, he would realize it was a sad sort of expression belonging to a formerly abused mind. “I’m flattered, Mark, really I am. But I doubt Jack will be putting me in the field for a while, especially after my latest psych eval gets back.”

The psychiatrist scoffs. “If Jack Crawford is too stupid to realize the potential of having you in the field regularly, he does not deserve his position.”

“Ultimately, it’s not his decision,” Ethan argues gently, as he usually does when confronted with disagreement. “If my eval comes back alright, I am the one who gets to choose whether I am fit to consult. Not the BAU psychiatrist, not Jack, not the Director – _me_. I know my mental tendencies better than anyone.”

It’s almost too simple for Mark to then offer, “I’d love to help you understand your. . . _tendencies_ more fully, dearest.”

“What do you mean?” Ethan’s pretty blue eyes widen comically as he senses an undertone to the psychiatrist’s words that he can’t quite identify. “I assure you I am perfectly capable of assessing my own mental health.”

“Of course you are, but wouldn’t you like an outsider’s perspective on the why’s involved in that complicated equation we refer to as such?” Mark leans over the desk and rests a hand over the smaller man’s, appearing to tower over Ethan from the professor’s perspective. “We both know Bureau psychiatrists don’t dig farther than they have to.”

Ethan raises a skeptical eyebrow, studiously ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks and the warm hand covering his own. “If I didn’t know any better, Doctor Fischbach, I would say you were trying to entice a new patient into your care.”

The psychiatrist laughs that lovely, deep laugh Ethan so enjoys, although the tradeoff is the removal of the comforting presence of his hand. “I can’t help myself when God grants me so interesting a specimen,” he says when his amusement has trickled down to a chuckle.

“I never would have pegged you as a believer,” the professor asserts, momentarily distracted from being referred to in the same way a biologist discusses his experimental subjects. “Especially in your line of work.”

“I would have to disagree with your assumption,” Mark contests, the same clever smirk tugging at his lips. “If anything, psychiatry enhances my faith. What else could have created such complex and tortured creatures but an omnipotent being beyond the capabilities of our imagination?”

Ethan shrugs, easily swayed by the older man’s argument. “I honestly never put that much thought into it. I’ve seen so much evil in the hearts of men that I lost my own faith a long time ago.”

“Ah, therein lies your problem.” Mark begins to pace as if giving a lecture, and Ethan would guess that in his years of experience as a revolutionary in his field, he probably has done so on this very topic. “To accept that line of reasoning is to ignore the range of omnipotence and classify God in the same way you classify people – either good or evil. While the reality of humanity is a mix between the two, one must also admit that, as God is beyond our capacity to properly picture, he is therefore a representation of every extreme in humanity, as well as every in-between.”

Ethan shakes his head lightly, a real smile growing into his cheeks. “You never cease to amaze me, Doctor Fischbach.”

“So let me help you,” Mark implores, halting directly in front of Ethan’s desk and once again reaching across it. “In addition to being an amateur philosopher, I consider myself to be incredibly proficient at psychologically evaluating a subject while playing cards.”

The professor laughs for the first time all day, exhilarated once more by the sensation of Mark’s fingers clasping his. “This is starting to sound more like a get-together than a psychiatrist’s appointment.”

“I’d rather you call it a date,” Mark says, purposely pitching his voice a bit lower and relishing the resultant pink in Ethan’s cheeks. “If it’s alright with you, I’ll send the details by letter.”

“A letter?” the professor asks, a bit incredulous as he watches Mark grab his coat from the chair and shrug it back on. “That’s a little old-fashioned, even for you.”

The psychiatrist winks at him as he goes for the door, offering a “Make sure to check your mailbox this week,” over his shoulder before he closes it behind him.

In the after-glow, Ethan wonders dazedly if he has ever felt this way about another person before. A part of him reminds that being trapped in Doctor Fischbach’s web so easily cannot be a good thing, but his heart does not seem to care. While he prides himself on being a logical kind of person, his actions are more often than not a product of his emotions, which Mark seems capable of playing like a fiddle.

A few minutes is all it takes for the young professor to be packing quickly, grabbing the Virginia Chamberlain file like an afterthought and rushing out the door. Jack Crawford won’t be in his office this late, seeing as he has a wife at home, but Ethan has an extra key stuffed in the breast pocket of his coat.

The office is dark, even though it’s several floors up from Ethan’s. Even the hall lights are dimmed at this hour, lending an eerie aura to the area. The professor creeps across the room to Jack’s desk, which is rather large as if to indicate the importance of the person who sits at it every day. He has to remind himself several times that he does not have to be sneaky – he’s allowed to be here, especially considering Jack himself asked Ethan to drop off the file once he was done with it – but something about the late hour and lack of other people gets to his head.

He carefully sets the file in the center of the desk, ensuring Jack will see it first thing tomorrow when he arrives for work. To be doubly sure, Ethan snags a bright green Post-It and labels the file with it, signing the message with a flourish.

Before he can grab his messenger bag from the floor and leave, he notices the tacit manila of a new file sticking out of a closed drawer in the nearby cabinet.

Normally, he would ignore the anomaly and head home to his dogs. But Mark’s words have a tendency to stick to his brain like magnets to a train-track, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s the new case the psychiatrist thinks is connected to Virginia.

Almost against his will, Ethan hobbles to the filing cabinet and pulls out the object of his curiosity. With trembling fingers, he switches on the desk lamp and opens the file, bracing himself for the gory crime scene photos that always start a case.

There’s nothing inside.

Ethan laughs a little at the absurdity of the situation, although he’s entirely unsettled and he can’t pinpoint why. With once-again steady hands, he replaces the offending file back in its place, making sure it is properly pushed in this time. He slings his bag over his shoulder and stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to think of anything but the overwhelming sensation of excitement he had felt as he opened the file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to keep to an upload schedule -- I think once a week is doable, at least until my next exam week. I'll keep y'all updated, and as always, comments keep me going so feel free to let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> This is real short, but it's just a test run so I'll try my best not to beat myself up about it. Let me know what y'all think/if you want more of this!


End file.
